Unexpected Turns
by eyeslikeashowroom
Summary: She's always been a caring person, her dad and daddy had raised her as such, and even now, looking up at Quinn Fabray, the girl that had basically single-handedly ruined her junior year at McKinley High, Rachel Berry still cared. Faberry.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, so this is my first Glee fic and I'd really appreciate it if you could let me know what you all think! I haven't seen many Glee episodes yet and I'm hoping I'm staying pretty in character and making this realistic, so please review and tell me if you like it or don't like it!**

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><p>It's not like Quinn Fabray <em>planned<em> to live with Rachel Berry.

She's not dumb, or unobservant. Quite the contrary, in actuality. She sees the concerned looks Rachel gives her at Glee, when she stumbles in with dark circles under her eyes and a ghost of a smile barely there, the concerned looks they all give her, really. But Rachel's looks burn the hardest into her back as she sits there, and she thinks if Rachel wanted them to, or if Quinn allowed them to, the brunette's looks could pierce a hole straight through Quinn's heart and unravel everything about her.

She's full of answers, ready when someone asks her. "I haven't slept well." "I've been worrying about Beth." "I have a lot of schoolwork." And none of it is a lie, but none of it's the whole truth, either. She doesn't say how she hardly ever does her schoolwork anymore, how she just stares at it and wonders when she became such a fuck up, when the HBIC finally disappeared for good and she was left with this shell of what she used to be.

She doesn't tell them how her "worry" for Beth is more like a smothering mixture of anxiety and fear, that strangles her whenever she thinks of her daughter. She wants to know Beth's safe, wants to check on her but she _can't_, yet. So Puck tells her how she's doing and who she looks like and Quinn thinks maybe this will all be all right, because at least Puck is here. But when she realizes she can't be _there_, for Beth, because she's such a coward...it's not all right anymore.

She doesn't tell them that her parents still hate her, and she doesn't sleep because she hates them hating her, and she hates herself, too. They remind her, every second they can, about who she is now. They barely talk to her anymore, and they almost never mention her to their friends. Not anymore, when everyone knows that stupid Quinn Fabray went and got pregnant and _really_, what a disgrace. She's lucky they let her live there, and it hurts her when she thinks that her idea of lucky is her parents letting her live in her own home.

She doesn't tell anybody in Glee this, and she never will. That would give them all the more leverage over her, and Quinn doesn't need that. She's barely hanging on to the shred of influence she has at McKinley, and she won't lose it now.

When she drags herself into Glee today, it's not any different. She looks a mess and everyone sneaks glances at her as if they're not brave enough to really look at her, or maybe they don't care to anymore. She feels Rachel's eyes on her though, a slow, unwelcome warmth unfurling in her stomach because she realizes the brunette is staring straight at her, not doing these little dodgy glances like everyone else. Her eyes catch Rachel's as she goes to take her seat, the brown eyed girl still staring unabashedly. And as Quinn passes by she inhales deeply, because Rachel's eyes are so deep and wide and _big_ and in a moment's glance, Quinn feels like Rachel sees _everything_.

"Hey, Tubbers, maybe you should yank your jaw up off the floor and come take a seat," comes the harsh voice of Santana and Quinn tears her eyes from Rachel's as she goes to settle into her seat and ignore Santana's rude, inaccurate (kind of maybe true) observation.

"Santana," she replies, nodding curtly before she turns to give Brittany a smile. Even though it's a small one, it's pure, and Quinn loves that Brittany's innocence can tug it out of her. "Hey, Britt."

"Hey, Quinn!" Brittany grins back, slightly bouncing in her seat as she reaches to smack Santana on the arm. "Be nice to Quinn, San. You promised."

"You made her promise to be nice to me?" asked Quinn incredulously because like, really, since when does Santana even have the_ capability_ of being nice?

"Well, yeah!" Brittany replies, her tone lowering almost conspiratorially as she continues. "We can both see you're hurting. San just deals with trying to help people differently, that's all. She's gotta learn to be nice."

Quinn resists the urge to snort in response; in no way, shape, or form does Santana _help_ anyone, unless it's Brittany. "Oh. I see."

"Look, Q," Santana starts, sounding hesitant about what she's going to say before powering through anyway, "I know I'm a bitch, alright?"

"Congratulations, biggest understatement of the year," Quinn interrupts bitterly, shrugging off the hand that Santana has placed on her shoulder. She's learned never to let her guard down around the Latina, no matter how fakely sweet she acts.

Santana takes a deep breath and ignores the jibe. "Look, if you ever need to...talk about your feelings or some shit, Britt and I will be here for you. We always have been and we always will be. I think...I think it would help you a lot, if you just let it out and just _talked_ about shit."

"I'd rather prefer not to discuss the issues of my personal life with the girl who constantly used to try to get me kicked off of the cheer squad and basically ruin my life," Quinn replies, refusing to lose her bitterness. Santana rolls her eyes, but before she can open her mouth, Quinn adds, "Or with anybody, actually."

"Except for Rachel," Brittany chirps, turning her attention towards the front of the room as Mr. Schue tries (and fails) to gain everyone's attention.

"Huh?" asks Quinn dumbly, her hazel eyes narrowing.

"Just ignore B," Santana says, giving her best friend a swift jab with her elbow.

"No, I-"

"Quinn," Mr Schue calls disapprovingly, and Quinn resists the urge to roll her eyes. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"

She isn't used to be called out for talking, or not paying attention or whatever, because for a long time Mr. Schue could see the strain she was under, as could everyone, and he left her well enough alone. Apparently that period had ran its course.

"I...no," she answers quietly. She turns completely away from Brittany and Santana and folds her hands in her lap, not raising her eyes from them as she mutters, "Sorry."

"It's okay, Quinn," reassures Mr. Schue, his tone gentler now, and Quinn feels Santana's hand back on her shoulder and Rachel's looking back at her and _fuck_ she wants to vomit, because she doesn't want their pity.

"I...uh, can you excuse me, please?" Quinn mutters politely, but already she's getting up and grabbing her purse without an answer from the man. "I just...bathroom break. Sorry." As she's walking out she glances back, and notices Rachel's still watching her before the brunette's cheeks tint and her gaze drops to the floor as Quinn leaves. She knows it probably wasn't wise to do that, in the middle of class, because she feels like crying and she_ knows_ that everybody else knows, and excusing herself like that just gave everybody an excuse to focus on her all over again. As she pushes into the bathroom she fleetingly wishes she could just go home, leave, because for as long as all these problems have been eating away at her she's never once just taken a break. But she knows that would make her parent's angry, and she'd have to see her mother's disappointment and _feel_ her father's rage, so she decides to stay as she casts a sweeping glance around the bathroom to make sure she's alone. Nobody hardly ever used this bathroom, so Quinn had chosen it to ensure maximum solidarity. But as she braces her hands against a sink and stares into the mirror, wandering who she is and what she's become, she hears the bathroom door swing open. She straightens, promptly ready to bitch out whoever it is so they'll leave her to continue wallowing in her self pity.

"Quinn."

Quinn turns sharply away from the bathroom mirrors as her eyes land on those damn deep brown eyes that can just swallow her whole. The brunette takes a step forward, and Quinn wants to take a step back, or maybe she doesn't, but she can't anyway because she's pressed up against the sinks with nowhere to go. She stares into the other girl's eyes, entranced. She tries to force her mouth to work, and what finally spills out of it is a cross between an exhale and a groan. "What do you want, Rachel?"

Rachel takes a step forward and Quinn levels her with a look that clearly says _back the fuck off_. Rachel does not see the hint, or chooses not to acknowledge it. "I know that, in light of our previous encounters, it might be strange for you to wrap your head around the fact that I want to help you, Quinn," Rachel starts, clasping her hands together and staring at them as she rocks on the balls of her feet nervously.

Quinn is overtaken by the desire to tell Rachel how adorable she is. Wait, _what_?

She doesn't have a chance to open her mouth before Rachel's talking again.

"However, I must admit that my desire to...aid you in your troubles also has to do with the fact that your voice is clearly being influenced by your lack of sleep and unquestionable unhappiness." She gives Quinn sort of a stern look, almost like this is her fault. Quinn bristles. "We can't have you sucking if we want to win Regionals," Rachel finishes bluntly, causing Quinn to take a menacing step forward. "I mean, I know my talent is exceptional and unable to be matched, but we can't count solely on-"

"You think I _chose_ for my life to be like this, Man Hands?" Quinn says almost lividly, and at the drop of Rachel's face she's smacking herself mentally. She had promised not to resort to these names, not anymore. She eyes the smaller girl for a moment before uttering an apology.

"Your apology is accepted Quinn, however I'm still quite confused on if you do or do not believe that nickname holds any validity, because, as we can both quite clearly see, my hands are rather unmanly."

"I-" stutters Quinn, looking everywhere but Rachel's eyes and those _hands_. "No, I...I never thought it was true. I just...I'm sorry. Rachel."

"Anyways," Rachel says abruptly, tapping her foot almost impatiently. "Well?"

"Well what...?" asks Quinn, eyes wide with confusion. Rachel has always be so freaking intense. It causes a warmth in her stomach that she can't exactly explain.

"Well, tell me what I can possibly do to remedy your current state of distress, of course!" Rachel insists exasperatedly.

And then Quinn is confused, again, because she didn't ask for Rachel's help and _what_? "I don't want your help, Rachel." _Thanks, but no thanks._ She doesn't say it unkindly, but it's not the nicest thing one can say when someone is offering them their help. But Quinn can't bring herself to say something nicer because inviting Rachel Berry in like that, allowing her to know the intimate, embarrassing details of her life _can. Not. Happen._

"I didn't ask if you _wanted_ my help," Rachel clarifies, stepping into Quinn's personal bubble now and grasping her wrist lightly. Quinn thinks it's so Rachel can make sure Quinn doesn't run away from her, which is a bit ironic considering the fondness the small diva seems to have for storming out when she hears something she doesn't like. Quinn can't blame her though, because she runs away from things too, just different things and in different ways. "I told you to _tell_ me what I can _do_." She squeezes slightly at Quinn's wrist and then Quinn inhales sharply as if in pain and Rachel glances down because she hadn't gripped her that hard and what...

"What's this bruise from, Quinn?" Rachel asks innocently, fingering it lightly as she glances up at the tall blonde with curiosity. "Is it...did you...did someone-"

"It's nothing, Rachel," Quinn almost snaps, yanking her arm away from the smaller girl and turning to wash her hands. She has no reason to do so but the familiar method brings with it a sense of routine and normalcy, and it also gives her some space from Rachel, who's watching her in the mirror with wide, chocolate eyes. Quinn flashes back to the night last week, when her dad left physical evidence of his hatred for the first, but not last, time.

_"I thought I made myself clear, Quinn," Russell Fabray growled, turning off the TV and standing to tower over his daughter. "No, you will not be going to see that young man, nor will you continue talking to him." He stepped closer and closer, jabbing a finger into her face furiously. "That boy is the reason you've transformed from our perfect little Christian daughter into the little slut you were when he knocked you up."_

_"Daddy..." said Quinn, her voice small. She felt like nothing in the presence of her father, like she was the biggest mistake and regret of both his and her mother's lives. "I just...he talks to me about how Beth is, and I..."_

_Her father gripped her wrist tightly, yanking her closer, and Quinn resisted the urge to cry out in pain, to let her father see how weak he made her. "You will not go see him, understand? And if you even try to defy me, do not expect to be let back into my house."_

_Quinn turned her head, her eyes landing on her mother. She was standing in the entryway that divided the kitchen and the family room, watching her daughter and her husband's conversation with an emotionless face and a flat line of a mouth. "Mom," Quinn almost pleaded, her eyes begging her mother to do something, anything._

_Russell leveled Judy with a hard stare and she sighed. "Quinnie," she said quietly, her eyes dropping to the ground. "Just..."_

_When it was clear that her mother wasn't going to come to her rescue, Quinn's body tensed and she turned to stare at her father in the eyes. "Fine," she said dangerously, not so afraid or timid anymore because really who gave a fuck about this family, about either of these two horrible people. Russell let her wrist go and Quinn turned on her heel and walked calmly up the stairs, not breaking until her head hit her pillow and she wished she had somebody to talk to because this was _not_ okay._

Her hands are hurting now and they're red, and she barely notices as one of Rachel's small hands close around her right forearm lightly and the other abruptly shuts the water off. "Quinn," Rachel says exasperatedly, going to the paper towel dispenser as Quinn stares at herself in the mirror, randomly, _painfully_ reminded of how much she looks like her father. She _hates_ that about herself.

"Sorry," she breathes after a minute, hazel eyes focusing on Rachel's as the brunette wipes Quinn's hands dry. She's hit with the brief desire to thank Rachel, for taking care of her, because if that little flashback incident had happened with her two best friends, Santana probably would have called her a freak, and Brittany would have just been confused.

"Please," pleads Rachel, and Quinn stares down at that, at her almost desperate tone. Rachel stares up at her with wide eyes; she hates seeing people unhappy, especially if there might be a chance she can fix it, and especially _especially_ if this unhappiness could cost the glee cub Regionals. She's always been a caring person, her dad and daddy had raised her as such, and even now, looking up at Quinn Fabray, the girl that had basically single-handedly ruined her junior year at McKinley High, Rachel still_ cared._

"What?" Quinn asks uncomfortably, still noticing that Rachel has a grip on her arm. "Please, what?"

"Please just..." God, Quinn could just _swim_ in those eyes. "Did...did your dad do this? Your mom? Puck? _You_?"

"Stop," Quinn says quietly, and she's hit with a wave of surprise because suddenly it's like she wants to tell Rachel, like she feels this short, feisty girl with a loud mouth and the most persistence Quinn has ever been met with will actually sympathize, and maybe not understand but_ try_ to. She falters, and Rachel sees this and grasps at it.

"Quinn tell me, please, I just...I want to help you."

"_Why_?" Quinn finally blurts, effectively dodging the intense questioning session. "Rachel, I-" She swallows, staring down at the brunette seriously. "I made your life _hell_ last year, Rachel. And I...I promised myself I wouldn't do it again this year but that still doesn't mean it never happened. Have you...have you _forgotten_? Are you _mental_?" If the roles had been reversed, Quinn would not only have sought revenge, but also would have never forgiven Rachel for tormenting her like that.

Rachel looks offended at the question about her sanity, and that's not what Quinn meant to happen at all. Rachel removes herself from Quinn's personal space to throw away the paper towel that had remained crumpled in her hand, before returning, but not as close this time. "No, Quinn, regardless of what everybody else in this school seems to think, I am _not_, in fact, mental. However, I have a very forgiving nature." She shrugged. "It's in the past. _That_ Quinn is in the past, and I can tell. You've changed since you've had Beth."

Quinn stiffens at the mention of her daughter's name and Rachel notices, remembering the whole topic of the bruise and Quinn's life and all that.

"If your family life is not...satisfactory," Rachel begins, watching as Quinn closes her eyes, "then...you should do something about it, Quinn. You don't deserve that." Rachel's always been excellent at reading people, and she's heard about the elder Fabrays from Finn, and how they treated Quinn after they found out she was pregnant. She_ knows_ Quinn got kicked out before and she _knows_ her parents don't support her and Rachel _knows_ and she wants to help.

"When has my family life _ever_ been satisfactory," Quinn comments bitterly as she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms defensively. She wants to say this is a lie, but it's not; when she was Lucy she was a disappointment, and when she was head Cheerio she was in her parents good graces, but never got to _think_ for herself.

"Does he beat you, Quinn?" Rachel asks quietly, closing her eyes as she waits for the answer she doesn't want to hear, but knows that she will. When it doesn't come after a minute Rachel's eyes blink back open, expecting to find Quinn gone. But the blonde is just staring at her hesitantly.

"You could report him," Rachel continues, and Quinn's eyes widen at that. "He can't...you have to know that he can't..."

"No," Quinn spits, and she's suddenly very, _very_ nervous. That would make things so much more worse. "He doesn't. He doesn't, okay, Rachel? He just...he gets angry, alright? I wasn't paying attention and...he grabbed me to help me focus my attention." She feels sick to her stomach, lying to Rachel, lying for _him_.

"Stop lying," Rachel implores suddenly, watching as Quinn looks taken aback. She steps closer. "I'm not...the enemy here, okay? I don't know why I care. I just do and seeing you like this everyday..." She trails off, staring at the floor. "I just don't like it."

"There's nothing I can do about it," Quinn replies stiffly, past the point of denying the mess and embarrassment that is her family.

Rachel's dark eyes return to hers. "Live with me," she blurts impulsively.

Quinn can feel her eyes involuntarily widen and she knows they probably look like saucers. Just last year her and Rachel hated each other, and this year they're not even really _friends_, and now Rachel wants her to live with her?

"I...just last year we hated each other, Rachel," Quinn voices out loud, leaning back against a sink and looking down at her clasped hands.

"I never hated you," replies Rachel honestly. "I mean, you were terrible to be around, cost me who knows how much in dry cleaning bills with your slushie attacks, and called me names that admittedly almost kept me up at night, if I hadn't the need for my beauty rest. But I didn't _hate_ you."

Quinn looks down at this girl with so much surprise and confusion and she instantly regrets every single damn mean thing she's said or done to Rachel Berry in all the time that she's known her. "I didn't mean any of those things," she says softly, awkwardly. "You...you don't have man hands, I don't think you look like a drag queen or anything like that and actually, I..." she ducks her head shyly. What has gotten into her? since when is she _nice_ like this, nice to _Rachel_ like this? "Ithinkyou'rekindofpretty."

"Really?" asks Rachel in a hushed tone. She tries to contain the beaming smile she knows just wants to sneak out.

Quinn nods a slight affirmative.

"Why haven't you moved out?" Rachel asks, taking the conversation back to Quinn's...obvious situation. "You can't be happy there, Quinn. I can tell."

"And where would I move to?" Quinn asks exasperatedly, throwing up her hands. "Riddle me that. I don't have _friends_, Rachel. I mean, Santana is..." She grasps her hands into fists, trying to figure out a way to describe the girl who is pretty much her best friend, no matter how often they fight. "Santana is Santana, and we would argue far too much for that to work out. And Brittany...she doesn't understand. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from accidentally telling all of the details of my personal life to everyone, and I can't...nobody really knows, Rachel, but you now. Not even Santana and she's my best friend and...I can't even tell _her_." She levels Rachel with an intense look. "Doesn't that_ tell_ you something? This is too big of a mess for you to try to help with."

"You're staying with me," Rachel breathes, almost as an affirmative, and Quinn almost wants to smack her because hasn't she been listening at all? And it's not even that the thought of living with Rachel is unappealing it's just...hard to believe and difficult to swallow and it makes Quinn kind of uncomfortable. After everything she's put Rachel through the girl wants to invite her into her _house_?

She scrambles for excuses without really realizing she's doing it. "Your dads..."

"...would be delighted to have company," Rachel finishes, her eyes wandering between Quinn's eyes searchingly.

"My parents..."

"Don't fucking matter, Quinn." And Quinn is taken aback by the use of the expletive that falls out of Rachel's mouth. "Just tell them you're spending a few nights at a friend's house. It doesn't even have to be for long I just...I want you to go back to normal." she holds a hand up as Quinn begins to open her mouth. "Please refrain from questioning me why, okay? I just do. I'd prefer you return to the bitchy head cheerleader you were junior year rather than have to see this. This isn't you, Quinn."

"I'd_ never_ return to that," Quinn mutters defiantly, biting her lip and resisting the urge to spin around and once again face herself in the mirror. She knows how she's looked lately but she wants to assess herself again, remind herself of what everyone else sees, of what _Rachel_ sees.

Rachel steps forward and places a light, reassuring hand on her arm. "I know. That's part of the reason I'm asking this. You're a good person, Quinn, and _this_ person, isn't you."

She wants to shrug Rachel off, spit at her _how would she even know who Quinn is_ and to _mind her own business,_ but she can't. She doesn't want to really, anyway. Its like the fight has left her body and she finds herself nodding almost imperceptibly.

"I guess I can...see what my parents will say," she says, trying to sound noncommittal. But from the wide smile that splits Rachel's face, that doesn't seem to work out all that well.

"I'm glad you came to see it my way rather quickly," replies Rachel brightly, bouncing on her feet. "It keeps me from having to waste precious time convincing you to do what you would eventually have done in the long run anyway. Now," she claps her hands loudly and Quinn winces, the idea just now hitting her that it might not be wise to purposely subject herself to someone like Rachel Berry every morning. "Would you like to come over to my house sometime tonight? Maybe you could meet my dads and look around and then...stay this weekend?" Rachel looks uncharacteristically hesitant.

"I...yeah. Yeah, sure," agrees Quinn, shifting slightly in nervousness. This is _weird_ but she can't say she dislikes it.

Rachel's hesitancy dissipates immediately at Quinn's agreement, and she touches the girl's upper arm before squeezing it softly. Quinn looks down at Rachel's hand on her, staring at it before dragging her eyes back up as Rachel begins talking again. "While it would be appropriate for me to inform you that I will call you later with details, it has just came to my attention that I don't actually have your number."

"Oh..." Quinn trails off, licking her lip absentmindedly and feeling herself almost getting lost in Rachel's eyes once again. Rachel blinks in what seems like slow motion and then Quinn snaps out of it and she's stuttering, flustered. This isn't like her at _all_. "Yeah. Um." She smooths her hands against her light yellow sundress before she holds out a hand. Rachel looks at it for a minute before retrieving her phone from the pocket of her plaid (_short_) skirt, unlocking it, and handing it over. Quinn saves her number, sort of marveling in the fact that all of a sudden she's giving Rachel Berry her number and they're going to be_ friends_. Santana will have a field day with this.

"Thanks," Rachel says almost shyly, and Quinn feels herself blush, like Rachel's sudden shyness is rubbing off on her. The sound of a piercing school bell shrieks and she jumps, furthering her embarrassment. Rachel smiles lopsidedly. "Seems we missed Glee."

Quinn can't really seem to bring herself to care; discovering that Rachel _possibly maybe_ isn't as annoying as Quinn had previously thought her to be had came to be _possibly maybe_ a better time than sitting in Glee would have been, with everyone's eyes on her and not exactly caring, but judging and assuming, too.

"Yeah," she breathes out in agreement, jumping when the bathroom door slams open and Santana stalks in, Brittany trailing happily behind her.

"Hey, Rachel!" the dopey blonde greets, causing Rachel to smile at her sweetly before she visibly cringes as Santana approaches her and Quinn.

"Why are you hanging out with the midget?" Santana asks Quinn with a raised eyebrow, casting a quick glance in Rachel's direction. Her eyes drift back to Quinn, whose face is flushed, and her other eyebrow quickly joins its raised partner.

Quinn can _see_ Santana making assumptions in her hand but she can't keep herself from muttering, "Don't _call_ her that."

Santana holds up a hand to illustrate that she's backing off and she smirks and turns to Brittany, her short, pleated cheerleading skirt flying. "Let's go, Britt," she says, jerking her head towards the door before she turns back around slowly to face Quinn. "Call us when...just let us know if you need help with anything, alright, Q?"

Quinn can detect the barest hint of sincerity and she nods slowly as the two Cheerios leave. Maybe she had been mistaken earlier; maybe Santana _could_ help people, or at least try.

She turns back towards Rachel who is staring up at her with a shy smile and twisting her hands together, like she wants to reach out and hug Quinn or touch her in some way but is restraining herself. Quinn's brow furrows. "What?"

"Thanks for sticking up for me," Rachel almost gushes, and Quinn blinks in response. "I mean, when Santana called me the midget," the smaller girl tries to clarify, mistaking Quinn's expression for one of confusion. "That was really nice of you, Quinn."

"Yeah, well." Quinn blinks again, staring at her shoes and then her hands before looking back at Rachel. She feels a small smile involuntarily grace her lips at the brunette's excitement. "It's the least I can do. I really do feel horrible about how I treated you, Rachel, and all the mean things I said. And Santana..." her voice drops lower as if Santana is still in the room and can hear her, and Rachel leans closer to hear. Quinn is hit by a sort of floral lavender scent, and barely stops herself from inhaling deeply in appreciation. "Santana...she's sorry for being mean, too. She doesn't mean a lot of the stuff she says, she just...she doesn't exactly know how to be_ nice_ to many people." She's not sure why she's sticking up for Santana now, but if the Latina's over the shoulder glances at Rachel after she had been picked on or slushied, the glances that contained just the faintest traces of concern, were anything to go by, then Quinn knew she wasn't completely off the mark.

"Really?" Rachel asks, her eyes sort of lighting up.

_Shit, there goes that smile again_ Quinn thinks as she feels the corners of her mouth raise. It takes a lot for her to smile, anymore, but right now Rachel's just dragging it out of her left and right like it's a cakewalk.

Rachel's phone vibrates in her hand and she glances down at it frowning, before recognition dawns on her face. "Uh, that's my dad, and...he's picking me up from school today and I have to-"

"It's fine, Rachel," assures Quinn kindly. "Thanks for helping me today. And...call me, okay? To let me know what time I can..." she swallows, the words feelings funny in her mouth. "Come over."

"I will," Rachel promises as she slips one arm around Quinn's shoulder in a kind of loose hug, to which Quinn is unsure how to respond. She settles for kind of grazing Rachel's hip with her fingertips before squeezing slightly and letting her hand drop back down. She's never been much of a touchy feely person, but if this whole living with Rachel thing ends up playing out, she'll bet money that she will be met with hundreds of more hugs and such from the small brunette. The idea didn't make her feel as uncomfortable as she thought it should.

Quinn smiles as she watches Rachel walk, _bounce_, out of the bathroom. She turns once again to see herself in the mirror, and it's almost like she looks better, happier already, and she knows that's impossible. Spending, what, 20 minutes in a bathroom conversing with Rachel Berry was not so life altering that actual physical changes could be taken notice of. But still, her eyes seem brighter and her cheeks are rosier and the circles under her eyes don't seem so bad anymore.

She's sort of in a dream like state as she leaves the bathroom and goes to make her way to her car, forgetting to stop by her locker and grab any homework she has, forgetting to talk to any of the acquaintances she keeps just to make herself feel like she still has _friends_. The only thing on her mind right now is the looming obstacle she has to pass if she even wants to really _think_ about staying at Rachel's.

Her parents.

Her _father_.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Quinn gets home, she goes upstairs to her room, shrugs off her knit cardigan, and slips under the cool covers of her bed as she stares up at the ceiling. It's times like this, when neither her mother nor her father are home, when she feels the most at peace with herself. Sometimes she just lies here like this and thinks, sometimes she eats the junk food that she slips into the house when her parents are being unobservant (because junk food isn't allowed, of course, it will go straight to her thighs). Sometimes she does simple things like watch whatever she wants on TV or read a book in the silence, and sometimes she puts on music, the loud, skull crushing kind her parents disapprove of, and dances around like crazy until she's winded and exhausted but insanely happy (though she'll never admit this to anyone, ever).

But today, she has thinking to do, so lying down it is.

Her mind travels immediately to a certain small, perky diva, just like Quinn knew it would, and she doesn't try to stop it. She thinks about what Rachel said, the things she did, how she touched Quinn as if to keep her grounded, how it did keep her grounded, how Rachel wouldn't let her make excuses, how she insisted, how she cared.

The thoughts of Rachel in the bathroom turn over and over in her head before her mind strays to thinking about Rachel as a whole. She doesn't even mean to, but soon she's thinking about the things Rachel says whenever she's talking, the things she does whenever Quinn happens to be watching her, all the times she's ever touched Quinn in the past or even braved standing close to her, her complete sincerity, her persuasiveness, her devotion, her drive...

Quinn squints up at the ceiling, because God she's not even trying to contain herself anymore. Her mind flits to the way Rachel looks, and what she was wearing today and the things she wears on the other days that aren't today, and the way she talks and how her voice sounds, and...bursts of images and sounds and smells are flying into her brain and they're all of Rachel.

"Fuck."

That's another thing Quinn does, too, when she's home alone. Because as soon as her parents arrive, it's like curse words aren't even in existence. She uses them when she can.

"Shit," she exclaims in surprise, rolling over and burying her face into her arm. She's thinking of Rachel Berry and she can't stop. She brings her head up and her eyes travel to the small alarm clock on her nightstand. 3:15. Her mom will be home in like 10 minutes, and then she'll get to hear the woman brag about something or complain about something or lecture Quinn about something, and at least her mind will be forced to drift away from all these thoughts of Rachel. Quinn hops up, going to skip downstairs and make herself something to eat before her mother arrives and she feels like a fat cow just for eating anything more than a celery stick.

She decides on peanut butter and jelly, randomly, as she walks into her kitchen, eyes zeroing in on her cell phone she had left on the kitchen table as it starts ringing. She picks it up, glancing at the unknown number curiously, before answering. "Hello? This is Quinn." She attempts to balance the phone between her ear and her right shoulder as she makes her way to the pantry, but gives up after the second try. She's never been very coordinated, or...whatever. She bends down to retrieve the peanut butter as she waits patiently for the other person to speak.

"Hey, um, it's Rachel," comes a soft voice, and Quinn straightens in surprise, cracking her head on a shelf in the pantry at the same time.

"Oh shit, goddamn, fuuuuuck," she whimpers, cradling her head and feeling like the biggest pathetic idiot in the world. She wasn't prepared for this, and being unprepared for a phone call from Rachel Berry causes Quinn Fabray to almost knock herself into unconsciousness from shock? What.

"I..." Rachel's confused on if Quinn's swearing is because she doesn't want to talk to her or... "Are you alright? What happened?"

"I just..." Quinn feels tears come to her eyes at the piercing pain in her skull and she angrily wipes them away before they even get the chance to fall. This is stupid. "Sorry, uh, I hit my head, and it...hurt..." God, she's so eloquent.

"Oh," Rachel replies slowly, feeling relief, even though she shouldn't because Quinn is hurt. "Are you okay?"

"I've been worse." It slips out before she decides if she means physically or emotionally, before she decides how Rachel will take it, and immediately she wants to take it back. "Uh, I mean-"

Rachel clears her throat. "Yeah. Um. I...asked my dads. When I got home from school. About you staying, I mean." She had been hesitant of calling Quinn so quickly, of coming off desperate and pushy but she just couldn't make herself wait. "They said yes. Of course."

"Oh." Quinn shakes her head, trying to get rid of the blinding pain that's just starting to fade. She plunks the peanut butter on the counter before turning around and leaning against it, figuring she probably shouldn't try her luck at attempting to get the jelly, too. Then what Rachel says dawns on her, and she doesn't know what to say. "Oh. I...yeah, that's...great, Rachel, I...haven't had the chance to ask yet. But when my mom gets home, I will." She always sounds so awkward when she's talking to Rachel, and she doesn't know why. "If that's...okay."

"Yeah," Rachel replies quickly, eager to reassure. "Yes, of course. If...if you want, if your mom says yes, I mean, you could maybe...come over for dinner?" Quinn's heartbeat increases at that, because dinner with Rachel Berry. She forces herself to listen, because Rachel's still talking. "You could meet my dads, and then Friday...um, tomorrow I mean...you could stay? Unless you didn't want to just yet, which I completely understand, I just-"

"Rachel," Quinn says softly to halt the girl's rambling. Maybe she isn't the only one who gets nervous when they speak to each other. But then again, Rachel has a legitimate reason; Quinn used to be cruel and horrible to her, and she has a right to be scared, or hesitant, or apprehensive, or whatever. But Quinn...Quinn has no reason to feel those things, right?

"Sorry," Rachel breathes out immediately. "I...I have a problem where I just seem to speak too much at one time and I'm rather unsure how to stop, but I..." She seems to be attempting to recollect herself, and Quinn crosses an arm around herself and drums her fingertips against her ribcage absentmindedly, patiently. "I apologize, Quinn."

"It's okay," Quinn says kindly after a minute, feeling that damn smile slip across her face fleetingly at Rachel's sincerity. "Um, I'll ask and then I'll call you, okay?" She waits ot hear the confirmation from Rachel, a tiny part of her brain realizing that she doesn't really want Rachel to hang up. "Bye, Rachel."

"Quinn?"

Quinn slams her phone on the counter and immediately straightens at her mother's voice as the woman enters the kitchen. "Hey, Mom."

"Who were you speaking with on the phone?" Judy questions her, setting down her purse and keys on the kitchen table before turning to appraise her daughter. When Quinn kind of mumbles an answer and won't really look at her, she tries a more direct tactic. "Rachel...?"

"Berry," Quinn answers, almost as a grunt. She clears her throat hesitantly. "Rachel Berry. Um..." She's not sure if she should tell the truth about wanting to go to Rachel's, or if she should stick with the original plan of mentioning that she's going to stay at "Santana's" for a little while. With the way her mother's staring at her, it kind of comes out before she can stop it. "I...I wanted to stay at her house, for the weekend, maybe. We're...friends now."

"Berry..." Her mom trails off as if trying to place the name, and that has Quinn nervous all over again. "Berry...Berry, as in...is she the one in your little Glee club? The one with...two fathers?"

Quinn had been waiting for that, and isn't surprised by the look of confusion and apprehension on her mother's face. "Yes." She could have lied, she guesses.

"Quinn..." her mother starts disapprovingly, eyeing her with raised eyebrows that make her look so much like Quinn herself. "You know how your father and I feel about that. It's very... inappropriate."

Quinn's not sure if she's ever agreed with the skewed perceptions her family seems to have on anybody that's different than them. She in no way thinks there's anything wrong with Rachel's dads (maybe she did before, or knew she should have, but not anymore). But she's sure as hell not going to mention that to her parents.

"Rachel doesn't...she's not..." But Quinn can't say for sure, can she? She's not exactly discussed Rachel's sexuality with her, never had the desire too, but now the question if Rachel's completely straight or if she swings both ways is beginning to plague her mind. "Rachel's not like them."

"Quinn," sighs Judy, bringing her fingers up to massage her temple like this is just such an unbelievably hard decision to think about.

"Mom," Quinn replies quietly, her voice cracking. She hadn't even meant for that to happen, but the way her mother's eyes swing up to meet hers immediately, Quinn figures she might as well milk it for all it's worth. She's not...lying, she's just adding in a bit more emotion than she typically would. "I need...I need a break, Mom." She kind of stares at Judy, hoping she'll understand exactly what Quinn needs a break from.

From the way she purses her lips at her daughter and kind of clears her throat in recognition, it's pretty clear that she does. "He won't be happy about this, Quinn. I don't even know if he'll allow it."

Why does everybody have to be under Russell's thumb? Quinn's tired of it.

"Tell him I'm staying at Santana's," she tells her mother immediately, clasping her hands in front of her and rocking on her heels hopefully. She's so, so close...

"He loves you, you know," Judy says absentmindedly, going to pick up the peanut butter and raising her eyebrows again at Quinn's choice of food before she turns to put the peanut butter away. Quinn ducks her head in an attempt to seem ashamed, when in reality she's griping to herself about how she almost cracked her head open and got a freaking concussion for some peanut butter she won't even get to eat. Well it was Rachel's fault, really. Just hearing her voice on the phone had-

"Quinn?" Quinn blinks and suddenly her mother is there, standing in front of her with an expectant look on her face. Images of Rachel swim away as her mother's face hovers in her main line of vision. "Did you hear what I said?"

Quinn wracks her brain. "Um. I..."

"I said, he loves you," her mother tells her, and she tugs at Quinn's arm lightly, like she's trying to make her understand, plead with her to believe this. But it's hard for Quinn to glance at that bruise on her wrists and the other bruises other places and believe that her dad actually cares about her, much less loves her. She's unable to stop her eyes from drifting to a newly formed bruise on her forearm that Rachel thankfully hadn't noticed earlier, her eyes tracing the contours of it while she feels her mother glance down as well. Quinn's eyes snap back up to stare at her mom, who is still looking at her arm. Judy's face tightens into a look that appears to contain traces of regret, and maybe even sympathy, before it smooths out and she's watching Quinn again. She sighs. "He's...it's just hard for him to show it, Quinnie."

Quinn wants to open her mouth and shove her mother away because that's shit, and she hates that name.

Her mother must get the hint because she abruptly steps away, and the pained look on her face tells Quinn not to argue.

"Yeah," she replies instead, nodding. "But, can I go? Can I stay at...at Rachel's? Please."

Judy sighs, and she looks as tired as Quinn feels. "I...I suppose Quinn."

It's reluctant, but Quinn's too busy screaming inside her head happily, and then being surprised at this happiness, to notice. "Thank you, she said I can...come over for dinner tonight, and then go over tomorrow and at least stay the weekend?"

"Yeah," her mother says tiredly, leaning against the counter and facing Quinn. "Yeah, okay, you can go to dinner I'll just tell your father..."

"...that I'm studying. With a friend," Quinn supplies helpfully, trying not to bounce around happily. She's beginning to feel abruptly keyed up, and if she wasn't Quinn Fabray and her mother wasn't her mother, she'd definitely be hugging the older woman by now. "Thanks Mom," she says, reaching past Judy to grip her phone, giving her a grateful smile. She doesn't miss how exhausted her mother looks right now, and she feels a pang of sympathy. Her father can't be treating Judy right, either. One day...

Quinn shakes her head, going upstairs to her room so she can flop back down on her bed and tell Rachel her news. She goes to her recent calls and dials Rachel back as fast as she can, waiting eagerly. She's never had someone, a friend or whatever, really care about her life, much less try to improve it.

"Hello?" Rachel answers, and words just burst out of Quinn's mouth.

"Hi. Rachel. Um, it's Quinn. Uh, shit you already knew that..." God, God, God.

"Hello, Quinn," replied Rachel easily. "What's going on?" Her voice turns guarded, and Quinn knows she's probably bracing herself for what she believes will be a decline of her dinner invitation. Quinn answers her with a huge grin that she tries to conceal behind her fist.

"My mother said yes. I can...come for dinner, I mean. And stay the weekend."

"That's great Quinn!" Rachel's bubbly voice is back, and it kind of makes Quinn want to feel bubbly, and...yeah.

"Yeah," Quinn answers after a moment, when her wide smile is slightly more controlled and she thinks Rachel won't be able to notice it in her voice anymore. "So when should I..."

"You can come whenever. Daddy, Quinn can come over for dinner now, right?" Quinn hears the muffled voice of a man murmur something that sounds like an affirmative, and then Rachel's back. "He said yes, Quinn."

"Okay. Okay, I'll be over shortly. Um..do your dads...you know." She takes a deep breath before she finishes bluntly, "Do they know about our...past? The shit I put you through?"

There's a minute before Rachel answers. "Yes."

"I can't..." Quinn sighs before Rachel interrupts.

"I've forgiven you, Quinn. There's no reason for them not to. I've...explained. You're different now, okay? And you've never been a horrible person, inside. I know that, so they know that and...it'll be fine, I promise. So come? Please?"

Quinn's learning fast that it's ultimately very hard to say no to Rachel Berry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the long wait guys, this is kind of a short chapter. I'm just not sure if anyone's really interested in this story and i wanted to get something out there and kinda check things out!**

She's insanely nervous on her drive over.

When she walks out to her car she sort of stands there for a moment, leaning against the hood and letting her hair whip in the wind as she wonders what she's doing. Is she running, from her father, from her life? In a way, she is, she thinks. But she doesn't want to look at this situation like that, taint the novelty of being _friends_ with Rachel Berry and going to Rachel Berry's house.

If Quinn lets herself ponder, she comes to the stilling but not completely startling realization that she _wants_ to be friends with Rachel, has wanted to for a long time. The slushies, the degrading names, the pornographic pictures in the bathroom stalls (almost taking it too far at the time, Quinn muses) had all been desperate pleas for attention, and Quinn's extremely embarrassed when she thinks about them now.

Her phone buzzes with a text, from Rachel, asking if she's still coming and if she needs her address. And like, _of course_ she's coming. She glances at the time, notes that her dad will be home at a time that's rapidly approaching closer and closer and she needs to leave. She slides smoothly into the driver's seat and with a pang in her heart thinks that this feels so much like running away, but maybe it's who she's choosing to run to that matters.

She only knows where Rachel lives because one time on their way to a competition for Glee, Quinn had already been on the bus when they went to pick up Rachel. That had been early in the game, when she still "hated" the other girl, but nevertheless she had paid attention and remembered the way. And if that makes her creepy, so be it.

Back then she chalked it up to knowing where to go if she needed to punch Rachel in the mouth for trying to steal Finn.

But what she chalks it up to now, she's not so sure.

There's some deep breathing time in her car when she parks in Rachel's driveway. It takes her a good five minutes to pull herself together and prepare, and then another two are spent in disgust of how easily she's able to be shaken. When she's finally standing at Rachel's door, smoothing her dress down hastily after ringing the doorbell, is when the thoughts plague her mind.

Shit, shit, _shit_ she should've brought something, some kind of fucking desert or entree That was the polite thing to do right? _Dammit_. Was this dress too short? Oh god, what if Rachel's dads were all uptight and thought the length was a tad promiscuous...then again, Rachel's skirts were often ridiculously short. Like she wanted to tease everyone with those sinfully, delightfully long-

"Quinn!"

Quinn is startled into reality as her eyes swing to find Rachel, standing in the doorway and smiling brightly. Her eyes travel down the brunette's body (she can't _help_ it, okay) to notice Rachel had changed out of the skirt she'd worn to school and opted for a pair of jeans instead.

Nice jeans. Jeans that hugged her in all the right places. Jeans that-yeah.

The jeans were nice.

Rachel in jeans is...startling. Quinn's sill staring at them absentmindedly as Rachel steps aside and lets her into the house. Focus, Quinn, focus.

"I-" Shit, she'd opened her mouth hadn't she? "Um, I like your jeans. I've never seen you in jeans before."

"I don't live in skirts, Quinn," Rachel reminds her, smiling sweetly as she takes Quinn by the shoulders and spins her around. Quinn briefly takes notice of the entryway, her eyes moving along all the pictures of Rachel at various stages in her life before she's nudged into the kitchen.

"You must be Quinn!" She hears from her right, and she turns and tries to make herself look less like a cornered, wild animal. Her eyes focus on two small, handsome men seated at the kitchen table, and they looked completely harmless but Quinn's still nervous, especially when they take to their feet and step towards her.

"Dad and Daddy, Quinn. Quinn, Dad and Daddy," Rachel introduces with a giggle.

She shakes both of their hands, manners that had been constantly engraved into her mind at a young age instantly taking effect. "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mr. Berry."

"Call us Leroy and Hiram!" The smaller one exclaims, turning with a flourish towards the oven as Hiram takes his seat back at the table. Whatever is being cooked smells delicious, but when Hiram catches her eye and wrinkles his nose, muttering, "vegan lasagna," Quinn's not so sure if she should be excited or terribly anxious.

"Wanna see my room?" Rachel asks, tugging Quinn along before the taller girl has a chance to answer. Quinn's eyes sweep across the pictures of Rachel in the living room, and then on the hallway walls when they get to the top of the stairs. She thinks it must be nice to have parents that are so proud that they want to display tons of pictures of you. In her house, there's only a of couple pictures featuring her, and all but one of them are from cheerleading.

There's none of Lucy.

She knows which one is Rachel's room right away, because it's the one with the huge ass gold star on the door, Rachel's name engraved into it as if more clarification of whose room this was is necessary. Rachel opens her door with a flourish and Quinn has to admit, it's not as bad as she'd thought it be.

_Wait I take that back, that sounds horribly rude_.

She had just expected it to be more...over the top. More like Rachel.

But it _is_ like Rachel, at the same time. And Quinn has so much to learn.

There are a lot stars; Quinn's seen at least 20 in her five second eye sweep over the room. They're painted beautifully, gloriously well on the walls, and then there's one huge ass one on the ceiling right about Rachel's bed. It's gold and rich and magnificent and Quinn thinks if she woke up to that everyday, maybe she'd feel like a star, too.

But the stars aren't overwhelming, and by far not the main focus of the room. They catch attention, but they don't hold it. Although, Quinn's not sure if it's because she's recently taken such an interest in Rachel Berry or not, but everything holds her attention.

There's Christmas lights strung around the room, and it's not even fucking Christmas but the main light is off so the room is kind of dim and the lights give it such a nice soft warm glow and Quinn can't deny that it creates a feeling of coziness. She begins to berate herself because literally 5 seconds later her mind inadvertently drifts to how she could get used to this, spending time with Rachel in this cozy room and maybe getting cozy on the bed and...

She almost shakes her head, because no. She needs to stop. Her gaze swings away from the lights.

Books, lots of books. Quinn ignores the urge to go run her fingers across the spines of said books, because _God_ she's a huge nerd and loves to read everything she can get her hands on but Rachel doesn't need to know that.

And the _movies_. Apart from being a book nerd she's also a bit of a movie buff, but Quinn can tell from quickly glancing at the titles that she's never seen or even heard of most of them. While this knowledge may usually make her feel annoyed, or maybe inferior is the right word, right now it makes her feel...intrigued.

Rachel has rows and rows of movies and then next to that, a small bookcase type of thing that houses her CDs and records. Quinn notices classics, The Beatles, newer artists, Lady Gaga, and every type of genre imaginable.

Rachel is smart. She reads books Quinn has never read, loves movies she's never seen, listens to music that's never graced Quinn's ears. And Quinn wants to read them, watch them, listen to them.

Rachel's _smart_. None of Quinn's other friends are smart.

"I'm sorry it's a little cluttered," Rachel says offhandedly, sitting down primly on the bed and nervously watching Quinn evaluate her room. "I wasn't sure if you were coming until the last minute and didn't have time to-"

"It's perfect, Rachel," Quinn replies softly, and then she feels her forehead wrinkle in confusion at her herself because "it's perfect"? Probably the gayest thing she's ever said in her life.

She idly muses how peoples rooms are sort of like windows into their souls or something, and when she mistakenly says as much out loud Quinn changes her previous opinion because _that_ was definitely the gayest thing she's ever said.

Rachel stares up at her patiently with dark, large eyes, waiting for an explanation. Her eyes follow Quinn when the blonde sits next to her on the bed, and it's then that Quinn comes to the realization that she likes Rachel's eyes on her.

"I...never mind," Quinn says hastily. "It's just...it's easy to see why your room would look like this."

"What does your room look like?" Rachel asks her, brown eyes almost piercing, in Quinn's opinion.

She swallows. "Um. Blank. I'm not allowed to paint my walls, so...yeah."

Rachel glances away, sort of staring up at the ceiling in thought as Quinn watches her apprehensively without trying to make it obvious. Rachel turns to her after a minute with a half smile and squeezes her shoulder. "I guess your previous statement about rooms would be invalid, then," Rachel tells her, smile growing slowly, "because you're one of the most complex, most interesting people I know. So, what would your room look like? If you could have it any way you wanted, I mean?" Rachel leans back against the pillows as she waits for Quinn's answer, and Quinn is kind of left sitting there, unsure as to if she should follow Rachel's example or just stay upright. After a minute she leans back as well and focuses her eyes on the gold star on the ceiling, pretending like she doesn't feel Rachel's eyes tracing her face. Pretending like she doesn't care.

"I...it'd be simple. But, a beautiful kind of simple." God she doesn't even know if she's making sense. "Like, the walls would be cream colored with accents, soft colors like baby blue or something, or green. They're my favorite colors." Her eyes slide to Rachel's, wondering why the brunette is even listening to her talk about a topic so trivial. Nobody's ever done that before. "I'd...the walls would have lyrics on them, or, or poetry, something of that sort. I know it's probably not common knowledge or anything, but...I like smart things, lines that make you think, or make you cry, or like, pierce straight through your heart. Or something." She swallows. "I'm probably not making an sense, but-"

Suddenly Rachel's hand is wrapped around hers and _oh_...it's a strange, abrupt kind of nice.

"Of course you're making sense, Quinn," Rachel replies sweetly.

Quinn fights the urge to grin back because maybe finally she's found someone who will understand her, even the weird unconventional parts. Rachel must notice this sort of deep conversation is making Quinn feel out of her comfort zone, because she sits up cheerfully and chirps that dinner should be almost ready. She pulls Quinn up by her hand and Quinn's already resigned herself to this, to the fact that Rachel seems to be a very touchy person and she should start accepting it.

She squeezes Rachel's small hand a little tighter for a second, and when the brunette turns to glance at her she gives her a half smile.

The thank you doesn't need to be said out loud.

**please review. :)**


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